Cold Coffee
by Dubious Writings
Summary: The war took its toll on everyone, but Percy Weasley can barely breathe on his own anymore. It's hard to let people in after shutting them out for so long. A look into Percy's life after the war and how he copes with it and comes to terms with himself.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Waking up was always the hardest.

Dreamless sleeps were hard to come by, and when he had finally found himself in the blissful peace of oblivious unconsciousness, the sleep just never lasted long enough. He would lie awake in bed for hours, refusing to get up and face the terrors of reality that stood before him. He would look at himself in the mirror with disgust at the face of the (_traitorous, useless_) gaunt ghostly blur that was his reflection. That was who he was, he had to remind himself; he was Percy Weasley.

It was a week after the war had ended, and it was Fred's funeral. No, he stared at himself hard in the mirror and ran a hand through the messy red curls that needed cutting, no. He would not go to the funeral. Nobody would want him there; he would just bring more grief than anything else. He carefully slipped on his glasses and blinked as his reflection became sharper and clearer. He stumbled out of the bathroom and out towards the kitchen of his tiny, immaculate flat. Well, not so much immaculate now, he thought to himself, seeing as everything was strewn about carelessly. He hadn't had the chance to clean it after the war; they had raided the place three weeks ago, and of course they found nothing. Percy Weasley, if anything, was good at covering his tracks.

He filled his glass with water and pulled out the box of painkillers. He needed something to fix the throbbing pain in his head and in his chest. The healers told him he was fine, physically, anyway. Nights were always filled with nightmares now. He would wake up in cold sweat and with a scream, and he wouldn't know what to do. Bill had come over to try to talk to him, but he shooed him away. He didn't know if he had the energy to deal with his family just yet. They would only mock him, he thought, they would hate him. They already hated him. He swallowed the pills; it should have been him that died, not Fred.

He hadn't left his flat in the whole week after the battle. His hands would break out into tremors when he did, and he just couldn't face the judgemental gazes of those in muggle London, no, they didn't understand what he had been through, what any of them had been through.

The memory of the war itself sent shivers down his spine, and the next thing he knew, he was sprawled out on the floor, out of breath, dazed, and shaking. His legs had failed him again, just like he had failed his brother, and just like how he failed his family. He was a failure. It should have been him. He reached up to adjust his glasses, but his hands were shaking too much and he couldn't think, so he just lay there. It's what he deserved.

He was broken out of his daze when the doorbell rang, followed by angry raps at the door. He knew who it was, and he knew he had to open the door, but he couldn't find the energy to lift himself off the floor. He closed his eyes and ignored the continued knocks at the door.

"Percival Ignatius Weasley, you open this door right now!" came the angry Scottish tinted voice from the other side of the door. "_Alohomora!_" was exclaimed, and the door opened with a loud click. Percy sighed as he heard the heavy footsteps stomp over to him, and he was greeted with the angry face of Oliver Wood in a neat black suit leering over him. That face quickly changed to one of pity, and the scot knelt down beside Percy, helping him to sit up and lean his back against the kitchen counter.

"You okay?" he asked.

"Oliver, I'm fine," he replied, strain in his voice that said the opposite, "It's just the tremors. The healers said I will be fine as soon as I get over the shock of the battle."

"You're taking it very hard, aren't you?" he said perceptively. Percy always hated that Oliver could see right through him. 7 years of rooming together in Hogwarts did that to a person.

"Yes, Oliver, I'm taking the death of my little brother very hard because I did indeed see him die in front of my very own eyes and I could do nothing to stop it from happening." He looked down to his pale hands to see that they were shaking violently now. Oliver reached over him and pulled him into a tight hug.

"You'll be alright, there there," he said, trying to be comforting, "But you still have to come to Fred's funeral."

Percy sighed and shrugged Oliver off, "I know my parents sent you because I won't listen to any of my siblings, and you know that I won't go."

"Percy, they need you."

"No," he spat back sharply, "They don't need me. Three years they never needed me and it isn't suddenly going to change. It's better if I didn't go. I'll just make everyone upset."

"Look, your Dad looked like a mess and he specifically begged me to come and find you and to bring you back. He said you can take your time with coming home and stuff, and they won't pressure you in the funeral. They've talked it over, but they just want you to know they want you at the funeral."

"Stop lying to me."

"You know I'm not lying, Perce," Oliver sighed, "You know I'd never lie to ya. You're my best mate."

"Oliver, I'm not going and that's final."

"I'll carry you over there if I have to."

"Look, I appreciate the sentiment, but," he paused and stood up adjusting his glasses and tousling his curly red hair, "I really can't come. I'm busy."

Oliver snorted incredulously and stood up, looking up at Percy with a look of complete disbelief, "I was told you resigned from the Ministry."

"Exactly," he replied, "I'm looking for a job."

"That can wait, you have plenty of cash in the bank, Perce. You can take one day off to pay respect to your brother."

"I can't pay respect to someone I—"

"You're going to say killed," Oliver sighed, "But you have to come to terms with the fact that it's not your fault. It will never be your fault. It was a bloody war, Perce! People were going to die."

Oliver reached up to place a hand on Percy's shoulder, stupid guy had to be taller than him, and just tried to be reassuring. He could feel him trembling under his hand. Oliver took a moment to glance around at the ruined room. There was glass swept away to the corner along with the picture frame that it came from. It was so unlike Percy to not clean up a mess. He walked over to the mess and saw the gently moving photograph nestled between the glass shards.

"Don't look at that," Percy protested weakly. He had tried to hold onto Oliver's wrist to stop him from going, but his grip was still weak and tired.

Oliver recognised the pretty lass in the photograph anywhere, with her long blonde hair and kind smile: Penelope Clearwater. She moved slightly, her hair falling gracefully over her shoulders as she seemed to laugh in the portrait. She was Percy's ex-girlfriend come best friend. It wasn't fair. Percy suffered endlessly for some things that just weren't his fault. It was in Percy's guilty nature. Inside of that pompous, arrogant little sod was a man who only wanted to be accepted. Percy was like a rubiks cube, Oliver thought, remembering that one toy Percy was challenged by a muggle born to solve. Percy had solved it almost instantly with his brilliant mind, however Oliver just couldn't understand it. That's when Percy described the algorithms behind it. Percy was like a rubiks cube; he was complex until you figured out the algorithms of understanding him. Oliver sighed. He knew when Percy was hurting, even when his face didn't show it.

"I'm so sorry for your loss, Percy," he said, "I'm so sorry. She was a good friend." He heard a hiccup of what seemed to be tears behind him, and when he turned he saw Percy leaning against the kitchen counter with his head in his hands. He walked over to the redhead and gave him a pat on the back. "It'll be alright."

"Stop telling me that it'll be alright!" he shouted between the sobs, "My brother was fucking _killed_ in front of me and I did nothing. And Penelope, _shit_, Penny. Oliver, I let her die."

"You've got to stop blaming yourself for everything, mate," Oliver said, "You saved so many people. Your parents don't know, and so many people don't know and they may never know, but think of the lives you saved, Perce. You helped them run, and you risked everything to save them."

"I couldn't even save those closest to me."

"We all have to make sacrifices. You could have never known that Penny would be caught on her way out. You could have never known."

"I wish I did."

"We all wish we did, but there's nothing you could have done. You've done so much."

"I could have done more."

"You left your entire family to protect them. If that's not dedication, I don't know what is, Percy. Everything you've done, you've done for them and for the good of all wizards."

"I just—"

"None of that, Percy. Your parents don't know it, but you were a hero. The silent hero that saved the world from behind. They don't know it, but I do, and so many others do."

"I-I," he started, faltering on his words, "I have to go change, Oliver."

"Where you going?" he asked, confused as Percy walked stiffly towards his bedroom. That wasn't the response he was expecting.

"I'm going to join up with the Death Eaters," he replied, a hint of a smile on his lips as he turned to look at Oliver, "Obviously. You're not dressed for a funeral."

"I'm in a black suit, mate! What more could you want!"

"We're talking about Fred, not me."

* * *

AN: I really love Percy so here's a story about him and post-war stuff. There are no relationships as of yet planned except for the canon one in the future. I like to think he suffers a lot from the trauma of the war, so it's good that he has friends there to help him out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

It was a bad idea. Percy knew it was a bad idea. He wore the most garishly coloured suit he could find, trying to lighten the mood as Fred would have wanted, but he still couldn't dull that sick feeling in his stomach that he didn't belong. He had taken his pills, though, he made sure to take them. The anxiety had died down thanks to them. He had Penelope to thank for introducing him to that muggle psychiatrist that helped him through the stressful times before the war. And now, he needed all the help he could get, but what could he say to a person who didn't see what he saw?

"How do I look?" Percy asked, stepping out of his bedroom for Oliver to inspect. He was wearing a pinstripe green suit jacket along with mismatched red dress trousers. He even wore a polka dot bow tie he had gotten from Penny one time three years ago. He knew Fred was laughing somewhere at his terrible fashion sense.

"Horrible, absolutely horrible," Oliver said with a quiet chuckle. He was adjusting a bright blue and sparkly tie that he borrowed from Percy's drawer. "Why you have so many ties absolutely confounds me."

"Presents," he replied, "People always liked giving me ties. They thought it was professional."

"And yet you wear the exact same pair of shoes with every fancy suit and tie," Oliver pointed out. Percy looked down to his feet and noticed that he was indeed wearing his one and only worn down brown oxfords.

"You don't deviate from the classics, Oliver."

"You're a giant nerd."

"Never denied it," he said, "Come on, you have to apparate me. If I do it I think I'll splinch myself."

Oliver nodded and took Percy by the arm before apparating them away with a pop. It made Percy feel woozy, and when they landed on the grass, he had to look for the nearest tree to lean on. His tremors were coming back, and he tried to calm himself down by taking his glasses off and cleaning them. That had the adverse effect, as he dropped them into the grass. He flinched as he heard the crunch that was Oliver's heavy foot stepping on them.

"Oh, shit, sorry!" he exclaimed, reaching down to take them and fixing them with a quick, "_Reparo!_" and a wave of his wand. He gently reached over and placed them back on Percy's face, balancing it on the bridge of his nose. "They wouldn't fall down if you would wear them up instead of down."

"Where are we?" he asked, blinking and looking about the empty area. Then, he saw the big gathering of people around a small makeshift stage and he knew this was the place. He sighed. "I'm scared, Oliver."

"Don't be, it'll be fine."

Percy took a deep breath and began walking down towards the group of people, Oliver following closely behind. As he approached, he got weird looks from acquaintances and old friends, especially looks of disgust. He didn't blame them; he deserved every last one. Unbeknownst to him, Oliver was glaring at anyone who dared give a look of disgust to Percy.

"Percy!" came the excited voice of Mrs Weasley, "Percy, Percy! You've come!" She rushed over to him, smothering him in a tight hug, "Look at you, are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Mum," he said, hugging her back in return. He didn't want to let go. She eventually let go and he had to lean down so she could take his face in her hands and kiss him on either cheek. "I'm sorry if you worried."

"Worried?!" she exclaimed, smacking him in the arm, "Of course I was worried! You know where you've been on the clock?"

"You," he paused, shaking his head, "I'm still on the clock?"

"Of course you are!" she said, wiping at her eyes with her handkerchief, "You're my son, and you're still our family, Percy. Why would you think otherwise?"

Percy didn't know. He was scared to admit that it was always a fear of his, and it had gotten worse after the war. He hated himself, and surely everyone must hate him too for leaving, yes? He looked towards the stage, then back to his Mum, feeling grief wash over him. Fred. Fred was the first to forgive him, and now he was gone.

"Percy," came the tired voice he recognised as his father. He turned around and could only catch a glimpse of him before he was pulled into a tight hug once again. He returned the favour and sighed into the embrace. "I'm so glad you came. I was scared you weren't going to come."

"I wasn't planning to," he said. There was no point lying, he just didn't have the energy for it, "But I thought I caused enough pain that it was the least I could do."

"Thank you, son," Mr Weasley said, putting emphasis on that final word 'son'. Percy wouldn't admit that his heart lifted at that word. He eventually had to pull away when George physically wrenched him out of his father's grasp and pulled him into his own hug. He was surprised to say the least, because he expected that George would be the one who hated him most. George buried his face into Percy's chest and said nothing, so Percy just hugged him back.

"You came," George said weakly, but there was that hint of hopefulness in there. "I'm so glad you came."

"Are you okay, George?"

"I'm better now that you're here."

"George," he started, though his voice faltered and failed him, just like he failed everyone else. He couldn't even begin to express what he wanted to say. He wanted to say that he wanted George to shout at him and scream and tell him that it should have been him. This, no, this was not what he expected. "George, I'm sorry."

"No," George protested, pulling away from the hug and reaching up to place his hands on his older brother's shoulders. It was always awkward being the tallest Weasley, Percy thought to himself, even Bill was shorter than him by a couple of centimetres. It meant looking down on everyone, literally, and it made him feel terrible in retrospect. "No, okay?"

"Okay," he replied meekly.

"I love what you're wearing," he said with the hint of a laugh in his voice, "Fred would have loved it, you know. I mean, I'm saying this because I love it, so I'm assuming he would love it too."

"I thought if anything I could at least make him laugh at me again," he replied.

"I'm just upset I didn't get to do that," George said, looking down at his black suit. He did, however, pull up his trouser leg to show off his brightly coloured socks with sloths stitched onto one of them and chickens on the other. "I did try, though. You know how the parents are."

"Of course, yes," he replied, "I'm surprised they didn't scold me for it."

"It's because you're the _favourite_," he teased with a laugh, "And since they're happy you're back and all." He paused, then sighed, "I have to give a eulogy thing about Fred."

"I'm sorry."

"You're the first person to be sorry about it."

"Am I not supposed to be?"

George laughed, "Well, I think you're the only one who gets it. Not wanting to go up and talk about what you lost. It's just a reminder, isn't it? And it doesn't make the pain go away. It makes everyone else just feel better."

"I'm not a fan of funerals."

"Me neither, Perce, me neither," he sighed," I thought Fred and I would have a joint one. We had something planned for it, like, exploding cake or something."

"Well, you can do it at mine," he replied.

"Don't say it as if it's going to happen soon," George said, "Or I'll put you on suicide watch with Mum."

"You wouldn't dare," Percy said with a wry smile.

"You're like, my second favourite brother after myself, so yes, I would," he said, "Just," he paused, shaking his head, "Don't leave us again."

"Why would I do that?"

"I know you," George said, "You think we don't know you, but Fred and I knew you the best out of everyone. When you're scared, you run. That's what you're like, and that's not bad."

"It's very un-Gryffindor."

"No, I think it's very Gryffindor," George protested, "We're all scared of something, and I know you like to clear your head and think things out yourself, but you can't do that now. You can't just leave us again and try to sort out your life alone, Percy."

"You're the one I should be giving life lessons to, not the other way around."

"Please don't leave."

"I won't, George, I won't."

The rest of the funeral went by in a daze. He wasn't exactly sure what was real and what was a lie. He vaguely remembered speaking to people before his tremors set back into his hands and his legs and he was forced to sit down on the white wooden chairs in front of the stage. He remembered being given water by his very worried mother who had to hold his arm steady for him to drink. She was weeping uncontrollably, asking if he was alright and why it was that he couldn't hold a plastic cup without spilling all of its contents before it even reached his mouth. He didn't know, Mum, he didn't know. He sat through the ceremony, and he felt the sinking feeling in his chest that made it hard to breathe. Bill came to sympathetically hit him on the back to release his airways and get him to breathe again.

As Percy was about to leave with Oliver, he overheard his siblings talking about him.

"He's taking it so badly," he heard Ron say, "As if the rest of us aren't just as sad as he is about it. He's acting as if he's the centre of the universe."

Ginny smacked him in the arm, hard, "Don't you dare say that about him!" she exclaimed, "He's stressed, Ron, he's having a hard time coping, just like the rest of us."

"The rest of us didn't crush a cup of water with our bare hands!"

"We had each other," Ginny said, "He had himself. I know Mum said to give him time, but I want him back. He needs to know that it's alright to cry."

"You know how Percy is," Charlie piped up, "Never cries, that one. Bill and I bet that he doesn't actually have the ability to cry."

"To be fair, I said that he _could_ cry, Charlie said he couldn't," Bill said, "I just think he needs time. Percy had a hard time during the war, and it's not fair to expect him to be okay so soon."

"I watched Fred die too," Ron said, obviously bitter, "He thinks he's the only one, but I was there."

"Ron," Bill started, "Percy is different. He was forced to continue working in the Ministry after the Death Eaters took over. Do you know how hard that is?"

"Hermione, Harry, and I all went out to save the world, bloody hell!" he shouted, "He stayed in his stupid fucking office and did nothing. Where was he when Dad got bitten, huh? Or when Greyback attacked you? Nowhere, because he was _never there_ for us!"

"That's not fair," came a new voice. Percy turned to see that Oliver had his hands balled up into tight fists as he marched right over to the group, dragging Percy along with him. "That's not fair of you to say at all, Ron. Percy did _everything_ he could to save you."

"That's a fucking lie, he wasn't anywhere!"

"Ron, just shut up!" Ginny begged, walking over to Percy who was staring blankly at the floor. "Percy, I'm sorry, okay? Whatever that's happened between us in the past 3 years, I'm sorry, and we love you, okay?" Percy shook his head, staring at his hands that had started shaking uncontrollably. Ginny noticed and took his hands in hers, squeezing them. That was enough to ground him and he let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding.

"Percy has never asked for anything," Oliver growled, "He's always had your best interests at heart."

"Stop it!" Ron shouted, his face blazing red in his anger, "Stop trying to defend him! He was a traitorous fiend, Oliver! He abandoned us, and for what? A job at some shabby Ministry that fell and didn't at any point try to help us! He told me to stop talking to Harry!"

"He's made mistakes," Oliver said, "I'll admit that, but he's a good man. He came back to fight, didn't he?"

"Too late, because now Fred's _dead _because of him."

There it was. That was the blow Percy had been waiting and anticipating for the entire afternoon. It hit him like a painful Crucio straight to the chest, and he felt his mind crumble into pieces onto the ground. He pulled his hands away from Ginny and covered his ears, shaking his head as if he were a child back in the war again, trying to block out the sounds of curses being thrown all around him. His glasses had slipped down to the tip of his nose and he was shaking.

"What is it, you can't take the truth, you _coward_?" Ron spat, "You should've been sorted into Slytherin, and then we could've disowned you without the fuss of wondering whether you ever _cared_."

Percy couldn't take it. Everything was swimming around him and his head was throbbing and he knew Ron was right. He didn't say anything, but he heard everyone else shouting. He didn't know what they were saying or who they were shouting at but to him, all the shouting was the same. It was about him and it was all his fault. He stumbled backwards, out of Bill's grasp on his shoulder, and he disapparated. Anywhere was better than there.

* * *

AN: It's a bit sad to say the least. I like to imagine that most of the family was willing to forgive after seeing how readily Fred forgave him, but I also like to think that there's some bitterness. Even if they try to be the best to him, sometimes it's bitter, and Ron is just not good at that he just goes full on angry.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

"Look what you've done!" Mrs Weasley shouted between her hysteric sobs, hitting her youngest son on the arm with her cloth. They had just told her about Ron's outburst and Percy's sudden disappearance. "You drove him away! My poor boy, he was so ready to come home too, and you drove him away!"

"He's not poor," Ron grumbled, "Sure he's got loads of money from sucking the Minster's—"

"Ron!" Bill shouted, smacking him on the head, "You hurt him, didn't you see?"

"So what?" he argued, "He hurt us. It's only fair."

"Where is he now?" Ginny asked, glancing over to the clock that hung up on the living room wall in the Burrow. Percy's hand was always hovering on 'lost' for the longest time after the war. They had all noticed that. Ginny remembered her mother's panic when before the war, Percy's hand would fall on mortal peril over, and over, and over again. When the Ministry fell, they were worried. If only Percy knew just how worried they were.

"We don't know," Charlie said, "Oliver's gone to look for him. George ran off in a rush with him to help look."

"Oh, poor George," Mrs Weasley sobbed, trying to keep herself calm for the sake of her family. "He was so happy too about Percy coming home." Mr Weasley pulled her away so that she could compose herself. Grief was better shared than shouldered alone.

"Aren't any of you angry?" Ron asked incredulously, "Aren't any of you mad that he left us? That he betrayed us for the Ministry?"

"Ron, that's not fair," Hermione said, taking his hand and trying to calm him, "He made his mistakes, but he apologised."

"Yeah, and a sorry is really going to cut it for all the pain he's put us through! It's not fair, and everyone should stop acting as if it is!"

"I'm angry too," Bill said with a huff, "I was angry at him for leaving, Ron, I was so angry that he could do that to his own family, but you know what, Ron? I realised something." He paused, glaring down at his youngest brother, the scars on his face making him look a lot more threatening, "I realised that I wasn't just angry at him, I was angry at myself. I was angry that I wasn't there to stop him or to help him, and that I didn't even try to find him in those three years. What about you? He sent you a letter, albeit a pretentious one, but did you try to talk to him?"

"Well, I—" Ron was cut off by a dry laugh from the eldest son.

"Exactly. None of us did. We left him alone. Mum tried to talk to him, but I think what he needed the most was someone that wasn't Mum to reach out to him."

"He sent back the sweater."

"Percy has every right to be angry," Bill replied, "We were wrong about him. Dad admitted that he was wrong. He got the promotion by pure talent, despite the Crouch incident, and it was probably the worst thing to have his talents diminished like that. Percy's one of the brightest wizards I know, and if I were him I would have felt devastated too."

"He left us," Ron mumbled, shaking his head. Hermione put her arms around him in an attempt to calm him. He was grieving, just like the rest of them, but he sadly also had a fiery temper and need to find an outlet. That outlet just happened to have been Percy. "He left us, okay."

"Just because someone leaves doesn't mean they can't return," Hermione said, "It'll take time for everyone to begin understanding each other again." There was a wistfulness in her tone, and that was when Ron and Harry remembered how she obliviated her parents in order to protect them. Just like Percy, she had left her family in hopes that it would keep them safe.

"We better look for him," Bill said, glancing at the clock on the wall, "You should never apparate when you're not in the right state of mind."

"Obviously," Harry said, nudging Ron playfully in the arm, "He's the living testament of that."

"That's just bloody rude!"

* * *

Percy, on the other hand, returned safely to his flat in London. His hands were still over his ears, and he stumbled around, trying to get his bearings straight. Nothing looked the same and the room spun around him, and the next thing he knew he was lying on the ground, the ceiling swirling around above him. The lights seemed to flare out in front of him. He needed new glasses; his astigmatism just made his headache worse. He couldn't get the words Ron had said to him out of his head. It was true; everything was true.

He closed his eyes and he let the painful nostalgia wash over him.

_The Great Hall always looked largest when you were a new first year student at Hogwarts. It didn't help that Percy was the smallest little kid so far. The preppy boy who had insisted on talking to him, Oliver Wood, was sorted into Gryffindor, and he hoped that he would be the same. He couldn't let his family down. _

"_Percy Weasley!" Professor McGonagall called, and he walked up the steps, dragging his long robes behind him as he sat down on the stool. The Sorting Hat was placed on his head and he held his breath, waiting for the Hat to shout 'Gryffindor' without a second thought. But the weight of the hat on his head made him feel anxious, and he knew something was wrong with him._

"_Ah, a Weasley," the hat whispered into his ear, "Normally I don't have a problem putting you into Gryffindor, but I can see clearly that you're different."_

'_Different?' Percy thought, 'No, I love my family, I'm a Gryffindor.'_

"_You say that, little Percy, but your intelligence and your wit should put you nicely into Ravenclaw." The hat was silent for a while, then it continued, "But I see deep ambition in you. It is nothing to fear, ambition is good for a man wishing to go places. I can see that you are willing to do anything to achieve what you know you deserve. Slytherin would suit you nicely."_

'_Not Slytherin!' he shouted in his head, 'Please, anything but Slytherin.'_

"_Are you scared of what your family may think, boy?" the hat asked, "Do not fear it. You had an uncle, who just like you I saw potential and ambition. He did not want to be sorted into Slytherin either. I put him there, and it was the happiest he ever was."_

'_I don't remember him.'_

"_You don't remember the very uncle you are named after, Percival Ignatius?"_

'_Uncle Ignatius wasn't in Slytherin.'_

"_Oh yes, he was. He went far, and your mother loved him just the same, Percy. They would still love you regardless of where you went"_

_Percy gulped, 'Please put me in Gryffindor. I want to be with my family. I don't want to be different.'_

"_Is that all you want, boy? Do you not thirst to achieve greatness like your brothers before you? Do you not wish to _exceed_ them? Slytherin would do you well. You would fit in so finely. They will treat you like one of their own, and you will no longer feel to isolation you feel with your family. You will be an individual."_

_The problem was that Percy did want those things. He wanted to stand out in his large family and finally be something other than Bill and Charlie's brother. He didn't want the expectations that he was forced to live up to. He wanted to be something special; he wanted to be something great. He shook his head, trying to keep his thoughts focussed on the one house that would help him _belong_ for once. 'Gryffindor, please.'_

"_As we've been here long enough," the hat trailed off before shouting, "GRYFFINDOR!"_

_A loud applause came from the table, and Percy made his way quickly towards where Oliver Wood was sitting alongside his brothers, Bill and Charlie. His heart was racing, and Bill reached over to pat him on the back._

"_That took a good 5 minutes," Bill said, "That was the first hat-stall I have ever seen. What were you two chattering away about?"_

"_Was it really that long? He wanted to put me into Ravenclaw," Percy lied, too easily for someone supposed to be chivalrous, "I told him I wanted to be in Gryffindor with all of you."_

"_You know, there's nothing wrong with a smartypants," Bill said, nudging him in the arm, "It's Slytherin you've got to be worried about."_

_He let out an awkward laugh, "Yeah, luckily he didn't think about that."_

A sharp noise of apparition pulled Percy out of his memory, and he blinked away the nostalgia in an attempt to understand his surroundings. He was lost. He heard shouting, but the blood was throbbing too hard in his ears for him to understand what they were saying. The next thing he knew, there were arms pulling him up from the floor and carrying him towards the couch.

"Percy, are you okay?" came the accented voice of none other than Oliver Wood, "We were so worried about you."

"Yeah, you git, why'd you disappear?" asked the second voice. Fred? Percy shook his head, no, you idiot, he thought, obviously it wasn't Fred it was George.

"Sorry," he mumbled, taking his glasses off and rubbing at his face, "I was panicking."

"Don't listen to Ron, okay?" he said, "I'll keep him in line for you. I'll take up the responsibility as house prefect, okay?"

That got the tiniest, wry smile from Percy as he placed his glasses back on the bridge of his nose, hands still shaking from the apparition. "I'll be fine, George, I just need to relax."

"You're shaking, Perce," George said, glancing over at Oliver who had gone to fetch some water for Percy, "You can tell us what's wrong."

"George I know what you're doing."

"What am I doing?"

"You're trying to ignore your own feelings in favour of someone else and it's not going to work. You need to face your own fears," he said, his voice cracking slightly near the end as the tremors worsened, "I can't let you try to help me when I should be helping you."

"Maybe that's true," George replied, tone more serious, "Maybe I'm distracting myself, but that's better than just wallowing in self pity. I want to move on, and I want you to do it with me."

"George," he started, then he shook his head, "It's harder than that. It's not that simple."

"Then we'll figure it out. You're talking to George Weasley, we used to get ourselves out of sticky situations all the time." We. Percy noted that George used We. He wasn't talking about George and himself, no, he was talking about _Fred_ and George, the inseparable twins. Percy shook his head, he didn't want to think about his little brother buried 6 feet under the ground when it should have been _him_.

Oliver returned and handed Percy the glass, helping him to raise it to his mouth to drink. Percy tried his best not to spill the liquid everywhere as he did so. The liquid was cool as it ran down his throat and he felt the shaking slowly die down as he drank.

"But what if he was right?" he said just as he finished his drink, "What if I do belong in Slytherin?"

"That doesn't matter," George said, "Ron was angry. We all say stupid things when we're angry. You would know."

"I'm a coward," he muttered, shaking his head and raising his hands to cover his ears again, "I'm a coward. I don't deserve to be in Gryffindor."

"You're braver than you think," Oliver insisted, "Just because you have ambition does not mean you are a bad person. You are loyal and brave."

Percy let out a bark of laughter, "Not loyal enough to my family, apparently."

"You were brave," Oliver said, "You know how much guts it takes to stand up against your parents and your entire family? You stood up to them."

"But I was _wrong_."

"Wrong or not, you stood your ground, just like a Gryffindor would. You _are_ brave."

"Yeah, didn't you know?" George asked, looking between the two of them, "Fred was sorted into Gryffindor first, and when I went up the Sorting Hat raved on about Fred, you know. The two of us didn't get our house called out before the hat got onto our heads, you remember. We were there for a good minute each. He wanted us to go to Slytherin, you know?"

"Really?" Percy asked, suddenly feeling as if a weight had been lifted off his shoulder. He wasn't the only one.

"Yeah, we laugh about it now. I know from Bill that you had a full on hat-stall, and well I think if you were in any other house, Fred and I would have been so upset."

"That's because it would be harder for you guys to bully me," he said with a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, true," George said, shrugging, "That and we looked up to you. Truth be told, if you went to Slytherin or Ravenclaw, we both would've followed you." He paused, sighing, "I guess I was scared." Percy noted the use of the personal pronoun. George, I, singular, alone. Percy shook his head, he didn't want to think about it.

"What were you scared of?" Percy asked.

"Of being different," he replied, "I didn't want to disappoint the family by not being in Gryffindor."

"That's funny, that's exactly what I thought."

"The hat told me that I should embrace who I am," George took a long pause, looking out into the distance, before turning back to Percy, clapping a firm hand on his brother's shoulder, "Then he told me that you were supposed to be in Slytherin. If you weren't so adamant about Gryffindor, you would have been put in Slytherin."

"He said that?" Percy asked, shocked, "And you never told me?"

"That's because I went and told that hat that he was wrong, and that my brother was the bravest person I knew. I went straight and told him, my brother Percy is braver than both Charlie and Bill put together."

Percy sat, dumbfounded by the entire situation. He shook his head, trying to comprehend what he was being told. After a while, he said, "You're lying."

"Am not," George said indignantly, "I'm a Weasley and Weasleys do not lie."

"A'right, a'right," cut in Oliver, with his Scottish accent played up for emphasis, "We get it, yer a bunch of nerdy snakes."

"Shut up, Oliver!" the both shouted simultaneously. The two brothers glanced to each other, back to Oliver, then back to each other and shared a small, quiet laugh. Maybe his family wasn't too bad after all.

* * *

AN: Wow it's crazy that people seem to really like this! I'm really surprised because this was literally something I started writing at a ridiculously late time yesterday instead of studying for my exams. I'm sorry if it's going too quickly, or anything, I'm not really thinking too much as I write these. I just want to get the story out there with Percy and his problems and how his family and friends, specifically George and Oliver, help him through it.

MandyinKC: thanks for the crazily thorough review! Yeah I'm kind of crazy with perspective switches, it's an odd style I need to really get back into control. I blame reading all those post-modernist texts tbh but hopefully the writing will get better when I get myself back into gear and stuff. I've been writing too much in first person that I need to start going omniscient again.

Kekejo99, : thank you so much for the reviews and I really hope you do enjoy it!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Oliver couldn't help but feel a tremendous pity for his best friend. Percy was in bed, recovering from the exhaustion that his tremors brought him. Oliver wanted to help, but he knew there was barely anything that he could do to help him other than let him ride it out. George had to apparate back to the Burrow to inform his family that Percy was safe and sound. Oliver, on the other hand, was offered a chance to stay in Percy's guest room for the night if he wanted. He accepted, of course, because he wasn't the type of guy who left his best friend alone when he needed someone to be there for him.

He took a moment to look around the flat, still in a mess from before. He slowly began to pick up the strewn cushions and rearrange them back on the couch, just the way that Percy liked them. They always had to face a specific direction, because Percy was anal that way, but now Percy was too tired to even think about the horrible state the Death Eaters had left his flat in. The kitchen cupboard doors were hanging loosely on their hinges and all the books were knocked off the shelves. The only attempt Percy made at cleaning up was shoving everything to the side. Out of sight out of mind was Oliver's old motto, but when Percy took to that angle he knew that something was obviously wrong.

He took out his wand and uttered a few incantations to fix the doors of the kitchen area's cupboards. He even pulled each and every one open and closed the again to make sure they were fine. He raised the books off the floor and arranged them back on the shelf, and then he looked to the mess that was the broken glass and broken picture frames Percy had left on the ground, alongside broken trinkets that used to reside on the mantelpiece. They were beyond repair, Oliver decided, but it didn't mean he couldn't salvage the photographs. He picked up the slightly torn moving photographs of various subjects. The one that Oliver spent some time looking at was the one of himself and Percy, with Oliver's arm around Percy's waist, and Percy's arm around his shoulders. They were both in nice suits and dress robes, and Percy was sporting elegantly a glass of what looked to be a fruity daiquiri while Oliver was gently swinging around rather brutishly a bottle of beer. He remembered that night fondly; it was the party a bunch of their year mates threw in celebration of Percy's great promotion. It was the first time Oliver saw Percy smile in days, and luckily that moment was caught in this magical photograph.

He laid out the photographs on the coffee table in a neat row, examining each of the other 4 photographs. There was one of Percy and his family, one of Percy and Penelope together, one of Percy and the guys at a bar for somebody's birthday, and one of him receiving the Transfigurations prize and the Academic Achievement prize from Dumbledore. Percy was the brightest wizard that Oliver knew. He could do anything that he set his mind to, and not to mention his natural propensity for magic really made him a force to be reckoned with.

"Oliver?" came the tired, quiet voice of Percy. He turned to see his friend there, rubbing tiredly at his eyes, still dressed in his dress shirt and the garishly red trousers, though both were equally crumpled from his tossing and turning in bed, presumably. "What are you doing?"

"I was just cleaning up a bit," he replied with a smile, and he raised a hand and continued before Percy had a chance to say what he was going to say. "I know what you're thinking and it's fine, I wanted to clean up, it's no problem, it's not a hassle, and yes I put the bookshelf back in alphabetical order."

"You're a star," Percy said after getting over the initial shock, "And I don't just mean a Quidditch one. I'm going to make myself some tea, would you like any?"

"Yes please," Oliver replied. "Did you sleep alright?"

"Oddly enough, I did," he said, "It was an hour's nap, but it felt wonderful."

"Those are always the best, aren't they?" he said, laughing, "You sure you alright?"

"Better than I'll ever be," he said, "I like when you wake up and you forget that the world around you is in disarray. Then there's that sinking feeling when reality sets back in and you realise that you're not in the perfect world you thought you were in." He shrugged nonchalantly and turned the kettle on. "Thanks for fixing up the kitchen. I'll probably need to buy some new cutlery. Maybe just redecorate. Maybe I'll just move. Milk no sugar, right?"

Oliver wanted to say something about the previous statement, but Percy had already moved on. Typical Percy, he thought, always avoiding the topic by changing it. "Yes please," he said, deciding it wasn't the best time to argue yet.

They were silent as Oliver separated the pile of scattered and broken items into what could be salvaged and what couldn't be. The only things that were alright were Percy's old prefect badge and his old Head Boy badge. Oliver waved his wand and tossed out the rest, then walked over to the mantel to gently rest both badges on it.

"Sentimentality," Percy said suddenly. Oliver jumped at the surprise, turning around to see Percy right next to him, holding a mug of piping hot tea out to him. Oliver nodded bashfully and accepted it. "Didn't mean to scare you." Oliver watched as Percy took a long sip of his coffee, the steam fogging up his glasses. He couldn't help but snicker slightly.

"You're quiet as a mouse, Perce," he said with a laugh.

"They used to call me the quietest Weasley," he paused, "You know, before they started calling me the traitor, the black sheep, and the disgraced Weasley."

"Why d'ya keep these, then?" Oliver asked after his first big gulp, looking back at the badges. He was trying to diffuse the tension by changing the topic. There was something about Percy's self-deprecating humour that was absolutely unsettling. It wasn't anything new, since Oliver always knew of Percy's odd sense of humour, but now it was worrying. Percy shouldn't be seeing himself in that way. He continued, "Do they mean much to ya?"

"No," was the curt reply. No explanation, just another long sip of his tea.

"So why do you keep them?"

"They used to mean a lot," he said, "It was motivation. Now it's just a reminder of my own stupid ambition."

"Percy," Oliver started, but his friend raising a hand and putting it gently on his shoulder cut him off.

"Oliver, I need a new wand."

"Right."

"Where do you think I can get one?"

"Ollivanders may be opening up again soon," he replied, "We can pop by to Diagon Alley and get you one."

"I won't lie, I miss my old one," Percy said with a tired sigh, "It was my favourite, you know. Absolutely wonderful wand. First thing I bought with my first paycheck was a wand that chose _me_ instead of a hand-me-down from Bill."

"You mean the super long one?" Oliver asked, nudging Percy lightly in the arm, "Dude yours was ridiculously long."

"It was not."

"Yeah, dude, it was like twice the length of mine."

"Almost," Percy said, "14 and a quarter inches. Ollivander said it was very odd for such a long wand to have chosen me."

"It's because you're so tall, you giant nerd," Oliver laughed, patting Percy on the back, "What happened to your wand anyway?"

"It got broken in the battle," he replied, "It was a good companion, but it snapped. Hopefully I can get one just as good."

"Maybe this time it'll be 15 inches," Oliver joked with a snort, "Seriously I swear your wand is compensating."

"Sod off Oliver, just because your wand is short."

"My wand is great! Shorter it is, the less likely it is to snap," he said, grinning, "Maybe that's why yours was so long. You snap so easily."

"I do _not_ snap easily!" Percy snapped. He took a moment to sip his tea and regain his composure, glaring at Oliver. "Okay fine. You win this time. Long wands for temperamental people."

"I heard they like to go for people with dramatic wand casting. Are you dramatic?"

"Oliver, quit it," he said, shaking his head and sighing, "I already miss my wand. I really would like a new one."

"You know, you're the first wizard I know who can apparate without a wand," Oliver pointed out. It was another one of the little marks on the long list of 'Why Percy Weasley is a Bloody Amazing Wizard'.

"Many people do," Percy said, "Plus, technically, we already have the magic power. The wand is just a medium in which we focus our magical energy. There are people who can do very basic, wandless magic. It is never as strong, but it works, and—"

"Okay, Percy," Oliver said, cutting him off, "That is all very interesting, but you do realise how far your flat is from the Burrow, right?"

"It's not too long."

"Percy, yes it is," he sighed, "Which means you are a bloody brilliant apparater."

Percy blushed slightly and he scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck, "When I first got my license I practiced constantly. The twins hated it."

"Well, that's too bad," he said, laughing, "So, who's wand do you have now?"

"Some Death Eater's," he said, shrugging, "I think I took it off Thicknesse. I did transfigure him into a sea urchin." He snorted at that, however Oliver only remembered how morbid it was for someone to step on a sea urchin that was once a person. "I threw it out, though. I didn't want to have anything to do with that wand after the war."

"What's it like without magic?" Oliver asked, "You've gone without using it for a whole week."

"It's like normal," he replied, "Not much is different. Not that I've noticed. I've stayed in mostly."

"Right. How about I take you out to eat?"

"You know I hate going outside."

"You're such a shut in," Oliver sighed, "Come on. Just for something to eat. If not, then I'll order some pizza."

"Order the pizza, I can't be bothered to face the world right now."

"You are a gigantic drama queen," Oliver laughed, nudging Percy in the arm. Percy nudged back, of course. "Pizza it is, then."

* * *

Ollivanders had just opened 5 days after the war. It had to be restarted quickly to fill the demand of new wands by those who were in the battle only to have it broken, and for those who had their wands stolen or taken away from them. The day after Fred's funeral, Percy and Oliver made their way to said store in the middle of Diagon Alley at 10am, a half hour after its opening time.

"Welcome to Ollivanders!" Mr Ollivander greeted cheerily, looking extremely excited to be back at work. After the fall of Voldemort, most wizards and witches were happy to be free of the worry and the pain. "Oh, isn't it Mr Weasley! What brings you here?"

"Just a wand, Mr Ollivander," Percy said as politely and as courteously as he would. "Mine broke in the battle, you see."

"Ah yes, understandable," he said, shuffling around the store in search for a box, "I have one which may suit you. Rowan, Dragon Heartstring, 14", Reasonably Supple." He took the long, dark brown wand with its engraved handle out of the box and presented it to Percy. Percy took it and held it in his hands for a moment, as if calculating just how it felt in his hand before waving the wand, only to find that the boxes on one of the shelves came toppling down.

"Ah, no, must be the wood. Maybe the rigidity. You need something harder." Ollivander continued whispering to himself as he went through more boxes, then pulled one out, taking out a light wood wand with a very intricate handle that Percy immediately took a fancy to. It was elegant and sleek, much like himself. "Pear, Dragon Heartstring, 14 and a half inches, Hard."

Percy found himself captivated by the lovely craftsmanship of the handle. The handle spiralled around itself, leaving an open space in the center of it. He took the wand into his hand and the handle seemed to perfectly fit his hand, and the weight felt natural in his palm. He waved the wand, and all the fallen boxes returned to their respective places. He smiled, "Wonderful," he said, "Absolutely wonderful."

"Better than your old one, I believe," Ollivander said, "Will be very good for your Transfiguration, this one."

"Thank you, Mr Ollivander," he said, smiling. He put his hand into his pocket to pull out his galleons, putting 10 of them on the counter, "Here."

"It's still only 7 galleons. The war didn't make me that hard up. This is my profession," he said, laughing.

"It's my treat," he said, "I'm just happy I found this wand."

"Wrong, Mr Weasley," Mr Ollivander tutted, "The wand is happy it found you."

"Come on, Perce," Oliver said, nodding his head towards the entrance, "Let's go. We can grab some food on the way, what about that?" Percy was busy being entranced by the light wand in his hand. The gleam in his eye gave him away; he couldn't help but admire the wonderful elegance of his new wand. Oliver couldn't help but laugh at how distracted his friend was. "It's a nice wand, let's move on," he said.

"Alright, Oliver," he replied, slipping the wand into the side of his trousers. Oliver always thought it was an odd place for Percy to keep his wand, but when Percy moved to adjust his jacket, the wand was completely concealed. "What are you looking at?" he asked.

"Just wondering why you put your wand there," Oliver replied, "Isn't that dangerous?"

"It's the best place I've found to hide a wand," he replied, "A pocket means there's too much fiddling around when trying to grab it, and my wand has always been too long so they poke out the top. Then if I were to put it in my jacket pocket, there's the problem of trying to unbutton my suit in order to pull out my wand, or the front sections will get in the way, so that's hardly efficient. Not to mention if my jacket is open, not only do I look sloppy, but a small knockback jinx would send it flying along with my wand. Therefore, obviously, right under my belt is a fantastic place to put it since it's easily concealed with my jacket and if I need it," Percy paused, and in one swift motion, pulled his wand out and pointed it at Oliver, "it's easily accessible." He then slipped it back into its position under his trouser's waistband right at his hip, then adjusted his suit jacket over it again.

"You've really thought about this, huh," Oliver said, laughing, "I just keep it in my back pocket."

"Of course I thought about it. I'm about efficiency. Heaven knows what could happen in a Ministry overrun by Death Eaters," Percy replied. Oliver took note of how Percy continued to speak in present tense. He knew that Percy was still shaken by what he had to sit through, but Percy was very good at internalising his feelings and not talking about them.

"Good thing it's not anymore, huh?" Oliver said, nudging Percy in the arm as he lead them out of the shop and down the streets of Diagon Alley.

Percy looked confused for a moment, then nodded, "Right," he said, "Not anymore."

"So, what are you thinking of doing now, Percy?"

"I'm assuming you are speaking about work. I know that you are returning to Puddlemere United once Quidditch games are started again."

Avoiding the question. Typical Percy, Oliver thought. "Yes," he replied, trying to humour his friend, "Though it may not be in a while. Most teams are in shambles, but hopefully it will be soon."

"Good," he said, "I've been considering helping the reconstruction of Hogwarts. I would very much like for it to be up and running again for students in the next school year."

"With all the help, I'm sure it'll be up and running soon," Oliver said, "I'll probably help, you know, before Puddlemere takes me back." He paused, then continued, "What are you planning to do after, though?"

"I'm not sure," was the curt reply. There was an awkward silence between them where Oliver coughed. Percy was never 'not sure' about anything in his life. Everything about Percy was organised to a tee. There was nothing Percy didn't know, and yet there he was, looking wistfully out wondering what he would do as a job.

"What about the Minis—"

"No," Percy stated harshly, cutting Oliver off before he even had a chance to finish his sentence, "Never again. I'm not going back. I can't stand the look of the Ministry, let alone going back to _work_ there, after all I've done!"

Oliver stopped walking and pulled Percy to the side, grasping both of Percy's arms tightly. He could feel his friend shaking and he could see the tension in the redhead's pale jaw. "Percy, don't worry," he said, "Calm down. It'll be alright."

"It's not going to be alright!" he exclaimed, a look of worry and fear set in his eyes, "Oliver, I watched people die in there. I let people _die_ and I could do _nothing_ to stop them. I'm not going back. I refuse to go back."

"You don't have to," Oliver said, "There are plenty of other jobs for you out there, okay? You're going to be alright. You don't have to go back."

Percy was silent for a long time before shrugging out of Oliver's grasp and placing his hands on Oliver's shoulders. "Thank you," he said, "Thank you."

"Come on," Oliver said with a small grin, "Let's go check out some girls, you and Penelope used to do that together, so I don't see why we can't do it together too." Oliver knew that Percy wouldn't laugh about his dead friend, but he did see Percy's features soften slightly at the fond memory, and that was enough for him.

* * *

AN: This became longer than originally anticipated. Just mostly some Oliver and Percy friendship building. I like to think they're just the best of buddies, and just so you know for the future my idea of Percy is demiromantic and asexual, because he just seems like the sort of guy who gets in a relationship because he likes the person over sexual attraction. I also like to think that Percy is honestly one of the brightest wizards in history, but he keeps it on the down-low because he's not the kind of guy to flaunt his magical prowess (He turned a guy into a sea urchin!). It's probably the reason why he's got such a long wand, because of his dramatic wizard flair and power. What a nerd. Also I did take a pottermore test for Percy (like the one with all 30 questions) and he ended up as 86% Gryffidnor, 84% Slytherin, and 82% Ravenclaw. What a tough time.

pureimagination: haha yeah part of the point of Ron's anger is the irony behind it. I think for him he's angry at himself so he's shoving it onto someone else because I like to think he's like that. He's not willing to accept blame until later tbh.

MandyinKC: Haha thank you! I'm really glad you liked it; Ron seems like quite the guy to make brash comments like that in my opinion. I do have an idea of where this is going to go, since there's a lot of ground I would like to cover, so I'm trying to blaze through it as quick as I can tbh.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

_It was a week or so after the start of the school year in Hogwarts in 1995, and Percy just caught word from the minister about his brother's position as a Prefect. He wanted to congratulate his brother and tell him how glad he was that he had gotten the position and tell him how he hoped he would accept the responsibility, but he couldn't. He had left the family only a few months ago, and he hadn't spoken to them once. He couldn't let up his guise just yet; it was too soon._

"_Oliver, tell me honestly," Percy said, holding out a piece of parchment with his neat writing all over it, "How much of a prat do I sound in this?"_

_Oliver scanned it quickly, putting on that dumb thinking face he always had on, before returning it to Percy. "Downright prattish. You sound like the biggest git in the world. You should add something about Umbridge being an 'absolute delight' or something."_

_Percy let himself break out the tiniest smile. Oliver was always the most trustworthy of all his friends. He had thrown him a great party in celebration of his promotion when the rest of his family turned his back on him; no, correction, he had turned his back on his family. The smile faded away at the memory as he scanned over the letter. "You're a genius," he said, "I'll add that and send it off. I'll add something at the end about repeating the Harry stuff."_

_He pulled out his quill and neatly penned it down, signing it off and neatly stashing it away in an envelope. Oliver just watched from the couch as Percy finished off the letter and sealed the envelope with wax and a stamp. "I feel so bad about this," Percy sighed as he tied the letter to Hermes' leg, "Sorry buddy, you're going to have to send this to Ron." They watched the owl fly out through the flat's open window, before looking back to each other._

"_You're just doing what you have to, mate," Oliver said._

"_Maybe I'll just not send it," he said, "Maybe I'll just," he looked out the window and sighed, "He's already gone."_

"_Look, it's not so bad."_

"_Ron's probably going to hate me more than he already does," Percy said, shaking his head, "It's fine, it's fine. I have to get them to think I hate them. It's better this way; it's safer."_

Percy was jolted into consciousness by a ring of the bell at the front door. He fumbled to find his glasses on the bedside table, slipping them out and stumbling out of bed. He quickly left the bedroom and headed to the front door of his flat, looking out the peephole to see whom it was. He was surprised to find that it was his brother, Bill. He opened the door and tussled his hair, not really trying to look presentable. It was 4 days after the funeral and he was due to start helping at Hogwarts the following day.

"Hello Bill," Percy greeted, "What brings you here at such an hour?"

Bill glanced down at his watch, then went back to looking at Percy. "It's 11.30am," he replied, "Had a late night, I imagine?"

"Oh, no, I just slept for a good 12 hours," he replied with a casual shrug, "I'm just catching up on sleep. I don't want to arrive at Hogwarts tomorrow completely shattered." He stepped out of the doorway and motioned for Bill to enter, "Come in."

"Your flat is as neat as you are," Bill said as he examined the place, but then he looked back at the messy Percy, "Well, usually are."

"Yeah, sorry," he said, "I'll just put the kettle on. Please make yourself comfortable." Bill nodded and went to sit down at the couch, examining the place. The photographs on the mantelpiece were put in frames again, thanks to the work of Oliver, and Bill was now looking at them with a fond smile. He hadn't expected Percy to be the photograph type.

"So, why are you here?" Percy asked as he handed the mug of hot tea to his older brother and took a seat next to him, "Any reason in particular?"

"Just came to see how you were doing," he said, "Can't a guy be worried for his little brother?"

The flash in Percy's eyes seemed to say no, but he replied, "I guess."

"You know, if you want, you can come back and stay with us at the Burrow. Even Fleur and I are there for a while."

"No thank you," Percy said, adjusting his glasses to the top of his nose again, "I really would rather not. I am very much at home here."

"Mum's worried because your hand on the clock still says you're lost," Bill said, "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he stated firmly, "I will come visit on the weekends once Hogwarts is sorted, but I don't think I can live there again. You must understand."

"Percy, if you want to talk about anything, you can talk to me."

"I'm fine, Bill," he insisted, rubbing at his temples, "It's hard to settle down. My nerves have been on high tension ever since the battle, but it'll be fine. The healers told me it would be fine."

"I can help. I'm your big brother."

Percy shook his head, "Bill, please, I've been doing fine on my own for the last three years." There it was, Bill realised. That was the bitterness he knew was under his little brothers' words.

"Percy," he started, trying to figure out a way to phrase what he was about to say. "Percy, I'm sorry I didn't try to contact you before. You shut us all out, remember?"

"It's fine," Percy replied, but it was obviously not.

"You shut _us_ out, Percy. We didn't want you to go, but you left, and you wouldn't let us back in." Bill tried to hold back his own bitterness, but he could feel it seeping into his words.

"Bill, you just don't understand what I've been through."

"You're right," he spat, taking a deep breath to reel himself back in, "You're right," he said again, this time more gently, "We don't know what you've been through, and we'd like to understand. You know, in my mind, I always hoped that you weren't just some Ministry lackey."

He saw how his brother's hands tensed at the last part, and Bill wasn't sure what to say about it, or if he should say anything at all. "Maybe I was," Percy said quietly through his tense jaw, "Maybe I was just some Ministry lackey that followed orders and accepted plainly what the Minister said and did. Maybe I didn't even try to help."

"Percy, I don't believe that's what you are," Bill said, "You're a Gryffindor, and I know you may be ambitious, but I know you wouldn't sit back and watch as the world crumbled around you without _trying_."

"That's where you're wrong, Bill," Percy said angrily, lying through his teeth, "I would watch the world burn before I did anything to help it, if I thought it was in the way of what I wanted. I didn't do anything to stop them, Bill. I worked with Death Eaters. I filed their copies about Muggleborns. I didn't do anything to stop them."

Bill stared at his brother, gobsmacked. He shook his head, he knew it had to be a lie. His brother was just angry and trying to spite him. "Percy, please, the war is over and there's nothing left to hide."

"You're right, that's why I'm telling you this," he replied, "Maybe it's best for you to leave."

Bill sighed, placing his mug down on the table in front of him before standing up. Percy stood up as well, leering down at him with those extra few centimetres he had above himself. "I know when I'm not wanted," he said, "But Percy, just know you're always welcome back home." He headed towards the door, but not before glancing back to the figure of his brother who hadn't turned to say goodbye. He was shaking, and Bill had a feeling that if he stayed, it would only get worse. He left, closing the door behind him, though he lingered long enough to hear a loud shout from behind the door and the sound of something smashing against the floor.

He waited in front of the muggle elevator for the lift to come, but as the light dinged and the doors slid open, he was standing face to face with Oliver (or as close as they could be, seeing as Oliver was a few inches shorter than himself).

"Bill!" Oliver exclaimed, stepping out of the elevator and taking Bill's hands and enthusiastically shaking them, "What brings you here? Did you see Percy?"

"Oh yes, but he doesn't want me there," he replied, "So I'm heading home. Maybe I'll try another time."

"Oh," Oliver said, frowning slightly, "Maybe you can hang out with me instead. I'll talk to him about it later, how about that? I would love to catch up with you anyway."

"Okay, sure," Bill replied, stepping into the elevator with Oliver and watching the doors slide closed. Maybe, he thought, Oliver would have the answers to why Percy was acting strangely. "So, do you visit Percy often?"

"As often as a best friend can," he replied cheerily, "He's been very on edge lately, so I try to calm him down by forcing him to watch movies with me."

"Sounds like an absolute delight," Bill joked, "Must be tough, huh?"

"Tough?" Oliver asked, looking up at Bill as if he were crazy, "Why would you say that?"

"Percy's not one for fun and games."

"He really isn't," he replied with a chuckle, "But he puts up with it, and it takes his mind off other things, so I guess right now it's just the lesser of two evils."

"Dad's been wondering if he's planning on starting work at the Ministry after helping at Hogwarts," Bill said, watching the numbers on the display tick downwards. Muggle contraptions were so odd. "The Ministry needs all the help it can get at the moment, and they think that Percy would be a great addition."

"I don't know," Oliver said, dragging the 'I' for a while as he thought of what to say. "Percy's probably is going to need some time to wind down. I don't think the stress of a job is good for him at the moment. You know him, he's such a stressy person."

"That's right," he replied, "I remember when you two were little kids."

Oliver groaned, "Ugh, this whole old person talk really bums me out!" he exclaimed.

"Yeah, well, you're gonna have to deal with it," Bill laughed, "You see, I remember how unlikely the two of you were. Percy was all pale and dorky and you were all tanned and preppy. It was so funny."

"We were the only two Gryffindor boys," Oliver said, "It's only natural we grew close. You know, gotta have each others' backs." The elevator dinged and the doors slipped open. Bill stepped out first and waited for Oliver. "Maybe we should go have tea, what do you think?"

"You'll have to bring me," he said, "I don't know this area well."

"Yeah, it's very Muggle-y, isn't it?" Oliver said with a laugh, "Out of all places Percy could pick, it had to be this." He lead them out of the flat's lobby area and into the brisk summer cold of the outside. "It seems so like Percy, doesn't it?"

"What do you mean?"

"A small, simple flat in the middle of an organised city."

"He does like order," Bill agreed, following Oliver across the road towards a small café, "It's really funny that he's so obsessed with it."

"I wouldn't say funny," Oliver said, taking a seat on one of the small tables outside the café, glancing over the menu. Bill wondered if he had said something wrong. Oliver looked up to the older Weasley and smiled, "I remember when we were in our room, you know being the only two Gryffindors, he absolutely _loathed_ the mess I made, but he put up with it for a good week before he actually went through the entire side of my room and rearranged it."

"Seriously?" he asked incredulously. He ran a hand through his long hair and shook his head, remembering how Percy used to be the one who helped Mum clean up and organise the Burrow. Percy's odd obsession with cleaning did allow for a glimmer of neatness in their messy home. "Well I guess it's not that surprising."

"He's a lot better now," Oliver replied, not taking his eyes off the menu, "with the cleaning thing. He's not as much of a perfectionist as before." He paused, glancing up from the menu before looking back down, as if he felt guilty about telling Bill about it, "He used to rewrite whole pages of essays in school when he made one spelling error."

"I was told about his immaculate essays," Bill said, "What do you mean he's gotten 'better', Oliver?"

"I told you, I think he's just become accustomed to mess," he replied, "You should've seen the state of his place last week, wow." He laughed, then turned to the waitress to place his order, "One flat white please."

Bill could tell that Oliver was changing the subject. He did grow up with Percy, and he knew this was a trait Oliver picked up from his wayward brother. Percy had a way with words that allowed him to segue neatly from one subject to another. Percy also had a way with words that made them all the more biting. He shook his head, trying to forget what their Dad had told him that Percy had said to him. _Those_ words, out of _Percy's_ mouth? He just couldn't believe it.

"I'll have the same," Bill said, nodding to the waitress, "Can you just tell me one thing, Oliver."

"What is that?"

"Has Percy been alright?"

Oliver stared at him, then shrugged his muscular shoulders, "He's been very on and off. I was told by his healer that it'll be very on and off for a while."

"What do you mean?"

"He's cycling the stages," Oliver said, though Bill had no clue how that was supposed to clarify anything, "He's going through ups and downs, and the healer told me that he'll need support to keep him from going down."

"Well, we want to help," Bill said, "But when I tried to talk to him, he just wouldn't let me in." He paused, then looked out towards the busy London streets, "I think he doesn't trust us."

"Trust me," he replied with a laugh, "Percy doesn't trust anyone but himself and I, mostly. Sometimes he finds it hard to trust himself."

"Why is that?"

"Fear," he said with a shrug, "There's a reason why his letters from his family always went unopened."

"He was being a proud asshole?"

"No, no, I mean yes, but also no."

"Then why?" Bill asked, eyes gleaming slightly at the chance of figuring out the puzzle that was his brother.

"I don't think I can tell you," he replied with a sigh, "I want to tell you and your family about everything, but I know that as Percy's friend I can't disclose any information that he would not want to disclose himself."

Bill's face fell and he shook his head, obviously disappointed, "That's too bad," he said, "Maybe once Percy feels better, I'll ask him."

"Yeah, hopefully he makes a swift recovery, right?"

"Recovery?" Bill asked, "Tell me honestly, is he doing alright?"

Oliver sighed, "I can't tell you much without Percy getting angry at me for telling, but your brother went through a lot in the war. The healers say it's mostly trauma and stress and fear, but there's also an element of self-doubt which makes him more susceptible to the depressive lows."

"Doubting himself isn't a Percy-like feature."

"Trust me, Bill, perfection isn't borne from arrogance or egoism; it's borne from uncertainty and anxiety."

* * *

AN: Percy chill out m8 your bro just wants to know what you've been up to (it's a secret). Yeah hopefully I'll be able to get into what he actually did during the 3 years he was separated from the family but I hope this kinda shows how I like to think Percy always put his family first. Maybe. Kinda. Oliver stop spilling Percy's secrets s2g.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

"_It should've been you," said the disembodied voice of his dead twin, staring at him through glassy eyes in his ghostly form._

Percy sat up straight in the bed covered in cold sweat and panting heavily. He looked around and fumbled to find his glasses, messily putting them on and marking up the lens as he did so. He stumbled out of bed and tried to make his way to the bathroom, but the room was spinning around him and he fell off the bed without even a second step forwards. It was true; it should have been him.

It took him a while before he was able to stand, hands still shaking uncontrollably. He had to lean up against the wall to stop his legs from collapsing from the tremors. He shook his head, trying to make the throbbing pain leave his head. No, he didn't deserve this at all. He was a good man for the most part. It just wasn't fair. He stumbled towards his writing desk and looked wildly at the papers he hadn't set his eyes on for the past two weeks since the battle. There, in his neat writing, was a letter he had forged for some Muggleborn who had died. He balled the parchment up into a ball and threw it hard against the wall in front of it, watching it bounce back and land on the ground next to him.

The next thing he knew, he was knocking his entire desk out of order; he spilled the ink over the pages and the books and he tore out the pages of the stupid booklet the Death Eaters had given him as part of Ministry Proceudures for Muggleborns. No, he was never going back. When he was done, the desk was in tatters and he walked unsteadily to his bedside to take his wand to make it go away.

Without a word, sparks fluttered out of the tip of his wand and the desk and everything on it slowly shrunk and transformed into a piece of paper. He picked it up and set it on fire, letting the ashes collect at the bottom of his waste paper basket. He hated the Ministry; he loathed it with a burning passion and he was never - _never never never_ \- going back.

He caught his breath and started getting dressed, checking the time on the watch that was passed down to him by his mother on his coming of age. It was a beautiful watch that he absolutely adored, but it did tell him it was 5 in the morning. He flicked his wand and a small briefcase pulled itself out of the closet and started filling itself with perfectly folded and arranged clothing. He was going to be in Hogwarts for two weeks, so he thought he ought to pack appropriately. He had charmed the briefcase to hold more than it looked it was able to, but he could not tolerate mess so he couldn't just throw things in willy-nilly.

He quickly brushed his messy red curls out of his face and straightened his tie in the mirror. He didn't have 'casual clothes', like Oliver consistently pestered him to get. He found them unnecessary, seeing as suits did suit him (hah, if only the twins were there to hear that joke!) so there was no point getting anything else. He closed the briefcase with a flick of his wand and summoned it to his side, catching it gracefully as he headed out of the bedroom door, fully dressed and fully packed. He put his wand back into its rightful position at his hip right under the waistband of his pinstripe trousers before taking a deep breath and disapparating out of his stuffy little flat.

He arrived in the area that was once the Great Hall – one of the only parts of the Hogwarts building intact enough for people to gather in. He glanced around and saw that a lot of progress had already been made. He saw some old school mates that were levitating rocks and putting them back into place. Percy only got a moment to set down his briefcase before he saw the form of Professor McGonagall swooping in in front of him.

"Percy, my boy!" she exclaimed, pride quite obvious in her tone, "We need your help with transfiguration! You are perfectly wonderful at it, and I hope you feel at home here!" She looked him up and down and smiled, "You are very dressed up, aren't you?"

"Well, Professor McGonagall," he started, adjusting is glasses as he spoke, "It's the only clothes I have."

"Ah, it is so like you to be so very professional," she said, "Well, it's going to be some messy work so I hope you are ready to roll up your sleeves." She began leading him down the hallways filled with ex-students rebuilding the walls. "Also, Percy, please do call me Minerva. I thought we were on first name terms already."

"Right, of course," he said with a slight smile, "You know that being in Hogwarts has the effect of wishing to revert back to it."

"Understandable, Percy," she said, placing a hand on his shoulder, a look of worry spreading across her face, "You don't have to be afraid here, Percy."

Percy looked at her in confusion before he let out the breath he hadn't realised he was holding and allowed his shoulders and arms to un-tense. "Sorry," he said, "it's just been very tough for me. The nerves haven't been adjusting well."

"Come along then," she said as they walked, "Oliver Wood arrived an hour ago, and I believe he is anxious to see you."

"He's like a puppy."

"Yeah, can't be away from your side for more than a bit at a time, right? You two were inseparable in your first year."

Percy chuckled quietly and nodded in reply. They had been inseparable for their first year, and their second year, however fourth and fifth year were years he would rather erase from their history of friendship. Oliver had forgotten about it quickly, so he just never brought it up again either.

"I am glad that you have decided to help, Percy," McGonagall continued, "I know it must be hard for you, after the war and the ministry and the family." Percy closed his eyes for a moment and drew in a sharp breath. McGonagall was never the type of lady to sugarcoat her questions; she was as blunt as blunt could be. "Is that going alright?" she asked, looking to him again.

"It's been fine," he said, jaw tensing slightly as he repeated, "It's been fine."

"Hmm," she hummed, though she had the wisdom to know that Percy did not appreciate her prying and snooping. He had always been such a secretive and self-sufficient child. She hardly remembered a time when he came to her for help, if at all. He always preferred the company of himself to others; that was the Percy Weasley that she knew.

"Percy!" Came the shout of a familiar Scottish accent as they turned into the hallway that was currently being rebuilt. Oliver was rushing down the unroofed hallways, jumping over some stray debris and dodging some of the other volunteers. Percy couldn't help but snort slightly at his overexcited nature. Oliver skidded to a stop in front of the both of them and grinned, "Percy! I'm glad you're here! Are you alright? Let me take that suitcase for you." Before even getting permission, Oliver had already reached over to pull the briefcase right out of Percy's hands.

"Oliver, there really is no need," he said weakly. It was obvious that he didn't have the energy to try and protest Oliver's overbearing assistance. "I'm fine. I think I just need to start working and helping out and I'll be fine."

"Well, I'll leave you to Oliver's capable hands, Percy," McGonagall said with a smile and a nod, turning around and striding back down the hallway, her coat swishing gracefully behind her. Percy watched as she left, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose and turning to look at Oliver again.

"You okay?" he asked, concerned, "You look a bit, well, frazzled."

"Just didn't sleep very well last night," Percy replied, waving it off with his hand, "Just tell me what I need to do. I hear you need my help in transfiguration."

"You know that we always need your help in transfiguration," Oliver said with a hearty laugh, patting Percy on the back and leading him into one of the destroyed classrooms. At the end of the classroom was a pile of severed chair and desk legs, shattered glass knives, and wood shrapnel everywhere. Percy shook his head, taking a deep breath before focusing on the pile again. Before his very eyes, they transformed into a harmless pile of debris and wood.

"You okay?" Oliver asked, grasping lightly at Percy's shoulder, "You seem very tense."

"Oliver, you know me well enough to know that I am perpetually tense."

Oliver still looked uncertain. He placed the briefcase down by the doorway before leading Percy towards the pile. He could feel Percy shivering under his hand, but he said nothing. Saying anything always aggravated the nerves more, Oliver had learnt. "Well," he began, motioning to the pile of broken everythings, "We need to make some desks and classroom things again. Since you're the transfiguration master I'm sure you could easily separate the shit from the tables and chairs, right?"

"You overestimate my abilities," Percy replied, adjusting his glasses unsteadily, "It may take some time to sort things out."

"Percy Weasley, sorting and arranging extraordinaire, needs some time?" Oliver mocked with a laugh, nudging Percy lightly in the arm. Percy couldn't help but smile just the slightest before reverting back to his resting look of judgemental boredom. "You can do it in 5 minutes, I bet."

"I can do it in less."

"Is this a bet?"

Percy pulled out his wand in one swift motion and waved it. Without any words spoken, wooden pieces broke free from the messy pile and reformed right above their heads into a desk and a chair. Percy flicked his wand, and the desk flew to the left of the classroom, arranging itself neatly amongst the rubble. Oliver looked to Percy, then to the table, then to the pile of crap, then back to Percy, smiling ridiculously widely as he applauded.

* * *

"Please, Percy, you have to talk about it," Oliver begged, pulling at Percy's wrist to stop him from walking any further. Percy pulled his wrist out of Oliver's grasp and dashed off, forcing the Scot to chase after him down the destroyed corridors. He had always been faster and stronger than Percy, but it didn't stop Percy from just apparating out of the vicinity. "Fucking shit!" Oliver exclaimed as he heard the pop of apparition, kicking angrily at the rubble. He wanted to be a better friend, but he couldn't even get Percy to talk to him, and it frustrated him to no end.

Percy, on the other hand, had clumsily apparated to the only place he could think of in the whole semi-fixed building while his brain was on fire and throbbing painfully: The Prefect's bathroom. The sight of the broken sinks and cracked stone and ruined bath was enough to send his head swirling again. He stumbled towards the closest toilet, the door completely broken, and threw up into the non-functioning toilet bowl. He felt as if he was drowning; his head was underwater and everything swirled around him in the aquarium where his worst thoughts were on display. He grasped at his glasses, pulling them off his face as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. He threw up again, the smell of vomit irritating his nostrils and hurting his head more. He wanted to die.

He sat on the floor, head against the cool stonewall, trying to catch his breath. He couldn't think straight, no, he couldn't even breathe straight without his chest fighting against him. He carefully placed his glasses back on his nose and the world came into focus once again. Why, he asked himself, could the world sharpen around him when his own thoughts were a blurred mess? He couldn't think straight.

"Percy?" came the familiar voice of Oliver. Shit, Percy thought, he couldn't even get away from him for more than a half hour. He just needed to be alone. "Percy, please, ah shit—" Percy didn't say anything, but he assumed that Oliver had noticed the smell. "Percy, please, I just want to help."

"Go away, Oliver," Percy choked out, voice weak and choking on his own words. He broke out into a coughing fit and he wiped more sweat away from his forehead, allowing his glasses to slide down to the tip of his nose.

There was a hand on his shoulder, then he turned to see Oliver slowly sitting down next to him, patting him reassuringly on the back. Percy turned away, not wanting to say anything. He wiped his forehead again and pushed his glasses up. "I think I'm ill," Percy stated as plainly and methodically as he could, though the tiredness in his raspy voice gave him away.

"You're more than ill," Oliver said, "We'll get you to the room in Hogsmeade, alright? You just need some time to relax. It wasn't a pleasant sight, I know. I'm sorry."

"Oliver, _please_," he said, voice cracking slightly, "I'm scared. _I_ did that. I don't know what to do anymore." He ran his hands through his tousled red hair and then buried his face in his hands, body breaking out into tremors once again. He thought he was over it, but that – that _monstrosity _– had been the last straw. Oliver clasped his arm firmly around Percy's shoulders, pulling the taller man into his brawnier chest.

"It's fine, Percy," he said, "War makes people do things, you know. Things that you would never want to do in any other circumstance, but they are things you have to do to win."

"You don't _understand_," he stated, tears welling up in his throat. He felt as if his own muscles were strangling him. Great, he thought, even my body hates me.

"Percy, I do," Oliver said slowly and carefully, "But if I don't, I want to. I will try my best to understand."

There was a long bout of silence that Percy eventually broke with a cough. "What," he paused, "What did they do to _it_."

"We've transported it out," Oliver replied, "We're sending it off to the morgue to get it checked. It's pretty old; we want to see who it is. If anyone is missing him."

"I know who it is," Percy said through gritted teeth, fists balled tightly, "I killed him, Oliver, I know who it is."

"How are you so sure? The body is old, Percy, it's possible you're wrong."

"I never forget a face," he replied, "Especially not of one I turned into a clam. The debris _crushed_ him. I can't believe- I don't know, Oliver, I don't know." He grasped at his hair and tugged, burying his face in his knees.

"He was just a Death Eater anyway," Oliver said, though Percy tensed up even more at that statement.

"Don't say that!" he snapped, body shaking uncontrollably, "Don't _ever_ say that _anyone's_ life matters less because of who they sympathised with and who they worked for!"

"Percy—"

"No," he spat rather violently, startling Oliver, "Is that what you would have said about _me_ if _I_ died, Oliver? That it was okay because I was_ just some Ministry buffoon_?"

"Percy, you know I didn't mean it that way," he said, trying to calm his friend down by gently squeezing the tense muscles between his shoulders and neck. "It'll be alright, Percy. I'm sorry for saying that, but I know it will be fine. You will be fine."

"How do you know?" Percy sobbed, turning so he could grasp onto Oliver's shirt. He leaned his face into the nook of his friends' shoulder and shook, grabbing onto him as if he were his lifeline. "Tell me how you know, Oliver, tell me."

"Because I know that these are bad times," he said gently, patting Percy on the head while simultaneously using the other hand to rub his back, "and I've seen people live through bad times and get better. Your parents lived through two wars. They have lost family, but they're still here. That's how I know that you will pull through, Percy. What you did in the war is kept in the war. People understand."

"No they don't," he sobbed, voice muffled by the material of Oliver's shirt. "People _never_ understand, Oliver. They _never_ understand the sacrifices we're, we're, we're," he paused, clearing his throat, "we're forced to _make_. They will never see me as a hero. They'll see me as some traitorous fucking bastard."

Ah. That was it. Oliver realised now the underlying reason behind Percy's surprising reaction towards the entire situation. Percy had seen dead bodies before. It wasn't like it was a new thing to him. The problem was that Percy had ghosts in his cupboard and seeing that one mauled figure reminded him that one day, they may all just be let out, and he would drown. Oliver tightened his grip around his friend and remained silent, allowing Percy to just cry until he was through. He vowed that he would make it known to the world what a hero Percy was; of course, he would have to ask for permission.

When Percy was done crying, he just wiped at his eyes, adjusted his glasses, and fixed his robes before standing up. Oliver couldn't help but find it endearing how Percy tried to put on the façade of normalcy while his puffy red eyes completely betrayed him. The redhead pulled out his wand and with a flick of his wrist, the vomit was cleared up and cleaned.

"Thank you, Oliver," he said as he returned the wand back into its position right between his hip and waistband, "You really are a lovely friend." He paused, shaking his head and looking to the floor, "If only I could return that favour."

"Percy, you idiot," the scot laughed, pulling his friend close by the waist and leading him out of the bathroom, "You're already a great friend. There's nothing for you to prove. You know that right?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Come on, I'll take you to where we'll be staying for the next two weeks."

"Please tell me we're not sharing a room."

Oliver broke out into a huge grin; Percy groaned.

* * *

AN: HahahAHHAHA i'm sorry it's been so long I had mocks for my exam and then I now actually have to study but I think I did this before my flight back home. Updates will be sparse until after my exams but I am determined to finish this thing. Eventually. I probably won't update until June depending on how things go with my exams (ah diddle everything I hate exams) but if there's anything in between lucky you! but yeah it's been a tough ride. I couldn't figure out how to write this chapter tbh but hopefully after this things pick up again.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

It was all over the papers. The ghosts had left their marks in ink on the press that was _The Daily Prophet_. Oliver quickly set the papers on fire with a quiet _"Incendio"_, watching as the arrogant, haughty face of his friend disappeared into the flames, alongside the headline 'Black Sheep Responsible For Countless Muggleborn Deaths'. He cleaned up the mess and turned to look over at Percy, still peacefully asleep in the next bed. They had roomed together for so long that Percy knew exactly how to sleep through any noise Oliver made. It helped that the poor guy was raised in the Burrow.

He stood up and headed to the bathroom to take a cold shower. He didn't want to think about the bullshit that the prophet was spewing about his friend. The same friend that saved so many lives because he made a few modifications to certain files. Percy Weasley was an unsung hero, and he just wished people would sing for him.

By the time he got out of the shower, he noticed that Percy was awake, looking for his glasses. He couldn't help but laugh at that, because Percy always looked the most distraught when he just woke up. Years rooming together meant that he knew enough about his sleeping habits and arrangements. He watched as the ginger fumbled to put his glasses back on, blinking to adjust to the sudden sharpness.

"Hello Oliver," he said with a yawn, "You alright?"

"I'm fine," Oliver replied, drying off his hair. He realised he was wearing nothing but boxers, but Percy didn't seem to take any notice, and if he did, he didn't say anything about it. Another perk about having a best friend was that neither really gave a shit about anything the other did anymore. He thought back to that first time he was in their dorm naked, and all Percy said was 'You've got really pronounced tan lines'. He deduced that nonchalant behaviour came from being raised in a household of pretty much all boys.

Percy sighed, "Let's go get breakfast?" he asked.

"You're not going to do your morning routine?"

"I obviously meant after, you uncultured swine," he said, letting out a gentle laugh that Oliver felt blessed to get to hear. Percy stood up and walked past Oliver into the bathroom and Oliver sighed, because he didn't want to ruin Percy's good mood. Thankfully, all that was left of the paper was the ashes.

After Percy was done with his extensive morning routine, they stepped out of the room into Hogsmeade. The weather was bleak, but since it was England that wasn't surprising. They had a short tiff about which place to have breakfast and settled on the Three Broomsticks for some good old greasy spoon styled English Breakfasts.

"Hah, remember the first time we were in this place, Perce?" Oliver asked after he had swallowed a huge mouthful of baked beans. "My god that was a while back wasn't it? We were so young then…"

"We were 13…" Percy replied, sighing wistfully, "That was a while ago wasn't it? And now here we are in our twenties… Time flies doesn't it?"

"Ah, yeah, it does. Those were good days… when the only thing we really worried about were Quidditch, for me, and studies, for you."

"Well, and also bullies."

"That too."

The cheerful reminiscence died down as Percy stared at his plate and stirred his beans around. Percy was never a big eater, and Oliver was reminded of the days when his friend would spend meal times cutting up his food and mixing it up as opposed to eating it. It was the first of Percy's habits Oliver caught on to.

"What're you thinking about?" Oliver asked after a bit. Percy glanced up, looking surprised at the question, then very quietly put his utensils down, as if he was scared the sound might upset him.

"Marcus Flint."

"Right…" he sighed, "You know that it wasn't your fault, right?"

"Felt like it was."

"Percy, listen to me. It wasn't your fault."

"I… I misjudged him, Oliver. It's all my fault…" Percy's breathing hitched as he tried to focus his attention on a scuff on the table, but his eyesight began to blur in and out of focus. He shakily brought his hands to his glasses, taking them off to clean them, but even with clean glasses his vision failed him. Everything hurt. He hated it. He hated everything. He couldn't even control his own body, and that just made him feel _more_ pathetic.

"Percy, Percy!" Oliver exclaimed, trying to grab the attention of his friend. However, Percy didn't seem to be able to hear him, or even register that he was there. Then, all of a sudden he stumbled off his seat and ran out from the restaurant. Oliver quickly vaulted over the table and chased after his friend out into the streets of Hogsmeade.

Percy was stumbling around, wand drawn, looking around frantically as if scanning for danger. Other witches and wizards looked on in shock and confusion at Percy's behaviour, many of them quickly running from the vicinity to avoid conflict. Percy pointed his wand out at one of the people too confused to run, hand shaking as he did so.

"Stay away from me!" he shouted, "Go away, go away!"

The man didn't need to be told twice and he immediately disapparated from the area. Then Percy's wand started sparking different colours as a bunch of wordless spells began to shoot out the end of the wand, harmlessly bouncing off the sides of buildings or the cobbled ground.

"_Expelliarmus!_" shouted a familiar voice. Suddenly, the brand new wand was knocked out of Percy's hand into the grass by the side of a building. Percy didn't have the time to react before he was tackled to the ground by _someone_ but Percy couldn't figure out who. His eyes were blurring in and out of focus. Sometimes he saw the dark, dank corridor in which the unspeakable happened, and sometimes he saw the bleak scene of Hogsmeade.

He couldn't breathe. He tried to catch his breath but his lungs didn't work; his throat was seizing up. Percy struggled against whoever was holding him down, but he couldn't win any battle on pure strength.

"Let me go!" he shouted, "Let me go! _Please_! Let me go!" Suddenly, something inside him snapped and the ginger broke down into tears, his body going limp in Oliver's arms. He was mumbling incoherent words, babbling away about something that nobody could quite decipher.

"Shhh, Percy, it's alright," Oliver said, voice gentle and soft against Percy's ear, "It's alright Percy… everything is fine... Shhh, just focus on my voice… It's Oliver, your mate, alright? I've got ya…"

"They'll get me," he choked out between his tears and sobs, "They'll get me, and they'll kill me too!"

"Percy, it's over… the war is over, you're here, shhh, listen to me. Listen to my voice, you're going to be okay." He reached his hand down and took Percy's skinny one in his own. "You feel that? You're here, I'm here, we're both here. I got you, alright? I got you…"

"They'll kill me," he muttered, repeating it over and over again as he struggled weakly against Oliver's grasp.

"You will be fine. It's okay, just breathe with me, alright?" Oliver took a deep breath, counting to 5 as he did so, then breathed out to the count of 7. After a few tries, he could feel that Percy was trying to match the rhythm. Slowly but surely, Percy's crying subsided and he had calmed down enough for Oliver to let him go. He slowly pushed himself off from the ground, then proceeded to help Percy stand as well. Percy stumbled as he stood, leaning his weight against Oliver.

"You gonna be okay there, Perce?"

"…I'll be fine."

"Come on, let's get you outta here."

"I'm so sorry, Oliver… I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault."

"Yes it is… I lost my cool. I thought I could handle this but… it just gets worse.. I was _there_ Oliver. I was _there_ and it felt so _real_ and I couldn't—" his voice got caught in his throat and tears started forming at the corners of his eyes again. He rubbed at them, then scanned the area, trying to focus on where he wand was. Oliver noticed the action and slowly moved the both of them towards the grassy area where the wand had landed. Percy carefully knelt down to pick it up, then deposited back into its position in his waistband.

"Let's just get you some water, alright? Then we can get to work and get your mind off of this…"

Oliver guided them back to the restaurant, where they were greeted by a very concerned waiter and the looks of other patrons. They guided Percy to a seat, then quickly fetched him water to drink. Percy stared at the empty glass as Oliver got up to talk to a witch who had beckoned him over.

"Is he going to be alright?" she asked, "He looks very pale… and like, not ginger pale."

"He's fine… he's just taken the end of the war very harshly, you know."

"Yeah, I know," she paused, "He's Percy Weasley, isn't he?"

"The one and only… how'd you know that?"

"Well, I knew his brother, Bill. I was in his year. But I mean, it's not hard to know of _the _Percy Weasley, black sheep of the family. His face was all over the-"

"Shhh," Oliver interjected, quickly checking behind him to see if Percy had heard them. Luckily his friend was lost in his own thoughts. "Percy doesn't know that, and he's been very _very _stressed so I thought it'd be best to keep it from him for now."

"Ah, right… yeah, must be tough for him to digest… After all that happened, you know?"

"Yeah… If you knew him the way I did, you'd know that the papers were just looking for a tantalising scapegoat, and Percy was the easiest name to put."

"Oh, yeah, I don't believe the papers one bit!" she laughed, snorting a bit, and then looking away, slightly embarrassed, "Yeah, well, Percy always seemed like a good kid. Plus, in situations like these, people make decisions… You can never segregate choices as 'good' or 'bad', you know? They're choices, and you live with the consequences. Newspapers just like to… dramatise."

"Yeah… they do…"

"Just… watch him, alright? I'm worried about him."

"You barely even know him, lass, and you're already worried, huh?"

"Well, I know him a bit… he's a good kid. Just… Uh…" she paused and took out a piece of paper from her pocket, along with a pen. She quickly wrote down her address and name, handing it to Oliver, "Owl me about his condition's progress, alright? I'd love to help however I can… Plus I'm helping with rebuilding Hogwarts so really, if you need me you can find me somewhere."

"Right… thanks?"

"Yeah, uhhh, sorry for being so unhelpful?"

They shared an awkward laugh as the lady went back to her table and Oliver returned to sit in front of Percy, who was still staring at the glass. Oliver reached over and gave Percy a gentle pat on the shoulder, getting no response. He sighed and glanced down at the piece of paper he was given, looking for a name.

And there, written in black ink, was _Audrey Hawthorne_.

* * *

A/N: ... Hi... 1 YEAR LATER AND HERE IS AN UPDATE GOODBYE I AM GOING BACK TO TABLETOP RPG HELL I'll update this eventually. Lots of PTSD goodness...


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"_You killed me," _rang a voice through Percy's ear as he laid wide awake in bed, staring at a crack in the ceiling in a vain attempt to distract himself from his own thoughts. _"You killed me. Look at you, living guiltlessly whilst others lost lives worth so much more than your pathetic excuse of one." _

"Stop it," Percy whispered to nothing in particular. He closed his eyes for a moment, revelling in the momentary darkness. He took a deep breath in, held it for 5 seconds, then slowly released his breath. He had to calm down, he had to sleep. He looked like a ghost, a shell, a shadow of his former self with his pale, pallid features and heavy eyebags that revealed his sleeplessness.

He counted to 10, then 40, then 100, then he kept on counting, hoping that the menial task of counting would eventually bore his mind to sleep. Hoping that maybe, maybe tonight he'd have an easy rest, a couple of dreamless hours. But those were hard to come by, and he resigned himself to an uneasy night as his mind finally drifted into sleep.

* * *

When Oliver woke up, he noticed that Percy's bed was empty. He sighed and slowly got up, stretching as he headed to the bathroom to was his face and get ready for another day. He thought back on Percy's _episode_, wondering if that would be the last time, or the first of many. He shook his head, running his hands through his tangled hair and chiding himself in not getting it cut before. There were so many things to worry about when it came to Percy, but he knew that coddling the Weasley would only make him more adverse to receiving help.

Percy was sitting on the small little table by the window, already dressed and ready for the day, sipping a cup of tea as he flicked through a notebook of his. Oliver walked over, took a seat, and poured himself a cup. Percy didn't look up once.

"Sleep alright?" he asked, watching Percy's face for the slightest change in expression. He looked better than the night before, but that wasn't saying much. He couldn't help but stare for a moment at the long ginger eyelashes and the spattering of freckles all across his friend's face that he always found so charming.

"I can feel you staring, Oliver," he replied bluntly, and Oliver quickly turned away with a laugh. "Do I look _that_ bad?"

"You look pretty tired," Oliver replied, gesturing at the heavy eyebags Percy had. "You know, there are draughts for that."

"I'd rather not. I think I'd get addicted, and that wouldn't be good for anybody. It'd be a shame if somebody walked in to wake me up to find out I'm stone cold from an overdose of sleeping draught. I'm not ready to pull a Romeo and Juliet just yet."

It was a morbid comment, but Oliver laughed anyway. Percy's jokes were stupidly dry, but he had learnt to distinguish truth from a clever snip from the way Percy's upper lip curled as he said it. Percy smiled, appreciating Oliver for understanding his sense of humour that had never quite fit in anywhere.

"Minerva said that you should take a day off," Oliver said nonchalantly as he leaned on the back legs of his chair. "Give you some time to think and relax."

Percy shook his head. "That's the complete opposite of what I want to do, and in my opinion, the least beneficial thing I could be doing with my time."

"You need to rest, you're not an automaton. You can take a break."

"No, I don't want to take a break," Percy replied indignantly. "It'll give me too much time to think, and I don't want that." He paused, looking askance, before adding, "I want to stay preoccupied, so I don't think of anything debilitating."

Oliver was quiet for a moment, staring at the bottom of his teacup. Percy always liked to make his tea so strong, probably for that extra kick of caffeine. He knew what Percy meant. He knew that quiet moments never lasted for long; quiet moments were always interrupted by loud blood-curdling screams and hexes and curses thrown around and the sounds of explosions and the—he shivered at the thought, shaking his head in an attempt to get back to the present. He glanced up and saw that Percy was staring at him, eyebrows knitted in worry.

"Oliver… are you okay?"

"Nothing, nothing, I'm fine. Was just… thinking."

Percy nodded in understanding. "Let's go grab something to eat before getting back to work, hmm? Best to keep your mind off things by keeping busy."

Oliver smiled, mostly to himself, as he watched Percy clean up the cups and teapot. Here he was, thinking he was the one taking care of Percy, when in reality it was often the other way around. Percy was always so self-sufficient, always so damn stubborn when it came to accepting assistance. Oliver knew that Percy was hurting, and the best way for him to ignore it was to push his concerns onto his best friend. Ignore it, that's how Percy Weasley dealt with the difficulty of emotions and trauma. Oliver's job was to teach Percy how to embrace it, how to accept it.

* * *

They went to work reassembling some of the classrooms, chatting about the 'good old days' at Hogwarts. It was the Potions room they were rebuilding, or at least that's what they assumed with the destroyed glass containers and stray rotting ingredients that Percy quickly spelled away.

"Snape always hated me," Oliver sighed dramatically as he waved his wand, sweeping up the broken glass into a trash bag in the corner.

"Well, it's not _you_ specifically, Oliver. He hated everyone," Percy replied, adjusting his glasses carefully on the bridge of his nose before taking a deep breath and holding his wand in front of him. "Stand back, Oliver."

Oliver did so, and watched as Percy muttered a long spell under his breath, waving his wand in an elegant flick of the wrist. The fallen rubble and debris quickly mended themselves into stone blocks, slotting themselves back into the walls and ceiling, as if nothing happened. Oliver covered his mouth with the front of his shirt as the dirt picked up, swirling around and disappearing into the air as if it never existed.

Oliver let out a low whistle, and Percy glanced to him as he tucked his wand away again. "You never cease to impress me," Oliver said as he gave Percy a few congratulatory claps. "Where'd you learn that spell from?"

"Ah, a book about restorations and architecture," Percy replied, "It's actually not Latin, it's from Italy."

"Italian spells? Since when did you know Italian spells?"

"Since I needed to learn Italian spells to utilise their great architectural knowledge to help rebuild the school?" he replied matter-of-factly, raising an eyebrow. Percy always had a way to make things sound stupidly easy, and thus unintentionally making everyone else feel inadequate as a result.

"Were the Italians really that great at architecture?" Oliver asked, running a finger along one of the newly repaired stone blocks, slightly disappointed at the lack of dust.

"Yes, well, of course. The Great Roman Empire was in fact in Rome, which is in Italy. Not to mention their grandiose Cathedrals and churches. They liked to use marble, and well, sometimes marble would get damaged, so some sneaky witches and wizards created spells for repairing any odd cracks. It's why the ruins lasted so long… Well, until they started deciding that they wanted to reuse the metal within lots of the old structures for the Vatican… Then—"

"And where'd you learn this?" Oliver asked, "Another book?"

"I went on a tour to the Coliseum and the Vatican City," he replied flatly, "And yes, I read a couple of books about it. It's interesting… the existence of magic in Italy in those times, wow, it's actually very intriguing. It was a highly Catholic country, and these witches and wizards would have been prosecuted, yet without them these marvellous creations would never have come to fruition… It's said that they used memory charms to conceal themselves."

"And that brings us back to here," Oliver said, beaming with pride. He loved it when Percy started to blabber on about history and something academic. He knew how much Percy enjoyed learning, and he knew how Percy loved even more to share that knowledge with others, though he often never got the chance. "You're stupidly impressive, you know that?"

"You're being too kind," Percy said, flushing slightly from the compliment. He also hated compliments that were too personal. "Come on, we'll talk to Minerva later about restocking, but we should focus on structure first… do you think they need help restoring the Slytherin common room? I heard they were struggling."

"I heard they're thinking of a complete renovation," Oliver replied, "Don't want Slytherin to be the only damn lot in the dungeons, it's just not fair, right? So presumptuous…"

"Ah yes, Minerva mentioned it… They might be building a new tower. Then what will be happening down here?"

"I think they're demolishing the old Slytherin dorms, gonna replace it with more classrooms." Oliver slowly began to exit the old Potions classroom, glancing about the dark hallways. "I think they're also thinking of installing more lights here."

"I've suggested they create false windows. Give it the sense of being spacious through 'natural light' which is actually just charmed to show the outside temperament with no actual view into the outside," Percy said, following Oliver out and heading to the stairs to the upper levels. "Less spooky that way. The first years and second years always hated the dungeons, it's time for a complete change in my opinion."

As they approached the Great Hall, where many of the volunteers met up for their breaks or just to figure out the next course of action, Oliver noticed a familiar figure in the far end, chatting with some people he recognised from the younger years in Gryffindor. The figure flicked their long braid over their shoulder and turned, locking eyes with Oliver and waving him and Percy over with a smile.

"Ah, who's that?" Percy asked, tilting his head curiously.

"New friend?" Oliver said, glancing around to see if she was beckoning anybody else. They walked over to the group, and with the closer proximity it was easier to identify the lady was none other than the witch from yesterday.

"Nice to see you again," she said, smiling. She looked over to Percy and offered her hand to him, "I'm Audrey, nice to meet you. Again."

Percy raised an eyebrow, hesitantly taking the hand and giving it a strained shake. "Ah, yes, nice to meet you Audrey, I'm Percy Weasley." He paused, examining Audrey's messy brown hair and bright green eyes. She had a cute upturned nose and a bright smile, that was accentuated by her dark skin and the smattering of freckles along the bridge of her nose and her cheeks.

"I know you," he said as he pulled his hand away, holding it stiffly by his side, "You were in Bill's year."

"Yes, I was!" she replied, laughing, "I'm surprised you remember me! You were so little then. Now look at you." She brought her hand up to her head, measuring the height difference between herself and Percy. "You're so tall! I think you're taller than Bill now, aren't you?"

"Yes, I am. Tallest in the family, actually."

"Hah, you got lucky then! Wonder where you got it from… You look so much like Bill now too."

"Don't be silly, there is no comparison between my brother and I. I am clearly the more charming and sexually appealing of the two," Percy stated with the driest and most emotionless voice he could muster. Oliver snorted and burst out into laughter, and Audrey quickly joined.

"Hah! And they said you weren't funny!" Audrey said, smiling and glancing down to the others in the group. "Ah, right of course," she gestured to Oliver and Percy, "I met these two in Hogsmeade yesterday, they're helping here too, which is nice. We can employ them in our little project! So, swell, Parvati, Terrence, this is Percy and—" she blinked, looked at Oliver, and then laughed, "Oh shit! I never asked your name!"

Oliver shook his head, smiling, "Oliver, Oliver Wood. They know me."

"Wow, getting full of yourself, Oliver?" Percy joked, smirking slightly, "Puddlemere's reserve keeper is really a spot of fame isn't it?"

Oliver nudged Percy in the arm and let out a boisterous laugh, "Oh shut up, you wanker!"

"Anyway," Percy started, rubbing at his arm, "What's this project you're working on?"

"We're discussing a more communal common room for the school," Parvati said, "Where during free time, students from all the different houses can meet up and hang out, or maybe discuss homework, or practice spells, or just have a chat."

"House pride is one thing, but complete and utter segregation is bad for development," Terrence added, "And in the library they forbid you from really speaking, so there's no place that is sanctioned for people in different houses to just… chat. We're thinking building a communal area will allow people to be more free with their speech and to create relations between houses."

"Yeap!" Audrey said, beaming proudly, "I just think it's not fair. Houses are separated from each other constantly, and I think it's important that people interact with each other! That's how it is in Muggle schools. You have your houses that you play sports with, but otherwise you mingle and mix with everyone else since at the end of the day, you're all students in the same school."

"This way people won't feel as if they are forced to stay within the tropes of their own house either," Terrence said, looking directly at Percy, who shied away from the gaze. "Houses shouldn't be the be all and end all of who you grow up to be. People change, and we should encourage that not restrain it. Don't you agree, Weasley?"

"Right," Percy replied with a nod, adjusting his glasses, "Of course I agree, Higgs. Life would have been better if we were not expected—even forced—to be enemies."

There was a tense silence. Percy felt their eyes like daggers, piercing into his skin, judging him. He wasn't a Gryffindor, was he? He never felt like he fit in, he never thought he could be anything different. He felt trapped within the expectations of who he ought to be, and who he _wanted_ to be… but in reality, he couldn't even break free of those expectations. He turned out exactly like he was expected to turn out: successful, different, an asshole in a family of good-hearted people. He was different. He would always be the black sheep of the family of white sacrificial lambs. Was ambition bad? Was it not brave to chase ambition? He felt so, so utterly alone.

Then, suddenly, a nudge at his arm pulled him from his thoughts. He glance at Oliver, who was now holding tightly onto his forearm. When did he collapse? He didn't know, all he knew was that he couldn't breathe, that he couldn't see. Where did his glasses go? He fumbled around for them, but Oliver held onto it to stop him. He mumbled something, but he couldn't hear his own voice. Suddenly, the world came back into focus, and looking straight at him was the bright green eyes of Audrey as she adjusted the glasses on his face. He blinked, blinked again, she was still there, everything was real.

"Percy, Percy, are you alright?" Oliver asked, obviously distressed but trying his best to stay calm.

"Fine," Percy coughed out in reply, looking around. Everyone was staring at him, worried. He wanted to get up, but he was shaking. "God, what happened?"

"You may have fainted," Audrey suggested, "A little bit. We'll get you some medical attention. Are you sure you're fine? You're looking very pale."

"I'm fine, I just… I just need some time…" he mumbled, shaking his head and attempting to compose himself. Audrey sat down on the floor next to him, then put an arm around his shoulders. He let out the shakey breath he didn't realise he was holding, suddenly feeling like the world wasn't crashing down at his feet.

"Hey, we're here for you…" Oliver said, rubbing circles on the back of Percy's hand with his thumb.

Percy was eventually escorted by Madame Pomfrey to the makeshift medical wing, leaving Oliver and the others in the Great Hall. Oliver sighed, running the events over in his head. Percy seemed fine, but he always _seemed_ fine so that meant nothing. He was watching his ginger friend the entire conversation, and he could see the glazed look over his eyes as the others explained their plans, and then suddenly, he fell. Oliver was lucky that Quidditch gave him quick reflexes, letting him catch his friend and avoid any impact. He felt _bad_. Percy probably cared more about the fact that he embarrassed himself in front of the others over his own health. Oh Percy, he thought, always about appearances.

"Hey, don't be so glum," Audrey said, giving Oliver a pat on the back, "Percy's gonna be fine."

"Yeah, I know," Oliver replied, "It's just… he's overworking himself. He's burying a lot of things by reading, and he's not sleeping, and—"

"You care a lot about him, don't ya, Oliver?"

"I… Well, of course I do. He's my best mate! I can't let him collapse on me now."

Audrey laughed, giving Oliver another pat on the back. "I think he underestimates how much you care about him," she said.

"No, he knows how much I care about him."

* * *

A/N: And I'm back. Back again. I tend to come back to writing fanfiction during exam studying season because I really want to take my mind off stuff. Look, I don't like Chaucer, but I've got to study a shit tonne of Middle English for these exams. I would like to graduate University, just the large Victorian novels are daunting... so why not bury my fear through fanfiction? God, this is such a filler chapter in my opinion, but it was going a little fast and needed a short break. So here's Percy and Oliver being friends, and eventually the appearance of Audrey! I have no idea what'll happen next. I once had a plan. That was 2 years ago. I never wrote that plan down.


End file.
